Back on Today
by Twerksie
Summary: Drabbles focusing on the romance and life of Lily and James.
1. Bundle

So yeah, now summer's started and I've got some free time, I've decided to try and improve my writing skills with drabbles. I've been on a LilyJames kick, so this collection's going to be comprised of that pairing, unless otherwise specified.

This first one was written just tonight. Give it a try, and I hope you enjoy. (":

* * *

Bundled  
By Kimmy

In the morning, when he descends from his dormitory, she's reading a book in the slightly sagging armchair by the fire. It isn't a school-assigned book as far as James can see, so he concludes it must be one of the muggle paperbacks her mother sends, crammed in between the homemade fudge and the horrendous plaid jumper Lily "forgot" to pack before she left for school.

Lily loves the paperbacks more than anything she owns; she told him so one morning, too early, they both silently decided, to have another row. It comes from her mother's private collection, she continued, and every time she turns a page, she catches a whiff of the honeyed candles her mother keeps perpetually burning.

She's more than halfway through the book now, James sees, and as he observes, she turns another page of the well-worn paperback, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. From his spot on the boys' staircase, he watches as she draws the book to her nose, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. When next she opens her eyes, she catches sight of him, and James wipes away the admiring smile on his face, expecting, as always, her reprimand.

But there's no reprimand this time, and her smile never loses a hint of cheer as she says, just loud enough for him to catch, "It smells like home."

* * *

Most of the drabbles will be like this -- not really concentrating on the romance in their lives, but the lives in their romance; mostly because I can't write romance for crap. I'll give it a try every once in a while, though. After all, the whole purpose of writing these is to improve my skills.


	2. Liquid Courage

Liquid Courage  
By Kimmy

I'm leaving on vacation tomorrow, so I guess this extra long piece will have to do for two weeks. It alternates between Sirius's POV and Lily's, and is rather silly. There's also an excess of parentheses you might want to watch out for.

* * *

It's only halfway through the Christmas Eve party I've thrown, and Prongs has already fallen asleep. He's only had a cup of punch – albeit, it was rather liberally spiked – but before he even fell asleep, he'd been stumbling across the room mumbling lewd things to inanimate objects. _Honestly_ – he's a _Marauder! _People expect things of us, among which _holding one's alcohol _(along with spiking the punch) is number one! Even Moony's still conscious (I think. His eyes are still open at least, but then again, you never know with these werewolves) and he's had _three _cups. I really must have a talk with Prongs later on about the importance of keeping up one's image in the public eye. If he's going to continue to be my best friend, he's got to learn how to stay standing (or at least how to stay _awake) _when drinking.

He's sprawled across the couch at the moment, taking as much space as is humanly possible for a person of his stature. Lily Evans is sitting next to him, having found no other space in the common room to sit (I have to admire Moony's spellwork even when he's completely buzzed), and she's trying to put as much distance in between them as she can by sidling closer and closer to the couch arm.

I really do feel for Evans right now; while Prongs is a handful when he's awake, he's just positively _boring _when he's asleep (Moony and I have, on more than one occasion, tried to remedy the situation by dressing him up in various getups and taking embarrassing photos while he was asleep. My personal favorite is the clown, but Moony prefers Prongs as an 18th century Englishwoman.)

Perhaps I should wake him up.

Before I can make a move to doing that, though, I see, to my internal wicked delight, that dear old James is losing the battle to gravity (got to talk to him about that, too; Marauder Rule Number 24: let no natural force get the best of you! Unless it's the urge to pee. Wormtail learned the hard way with that one), and his head is falling steadily sideways. Evans sees this as well, and now she's staring in horror at the James Potter head that has just landed on her shoulder.

I reckon Christmas might have come a few hours early. The cogs of my mind slowly turn as my eyes catch sight of Theodore Creevey at the punch table, his camera clutched in his hand…

--

It's Christmas Eve, and I seem to have found myself with James Potter's head on my shoulder. I somehow instinctively know that this is a product of Sirius Black's conniving (or he's at least taking far too much pleasure from my situation), and if I didn't particularly enjoy having James's hair brushing my cheek (it smells of honey, how adorable), I'd push him off and hunt down his best friend to shove his gloating face down a toilet.

James is making some rather charming snuffles against my shoulder now. I'm trying to ignore it, but he really is just too cute. Against my better judgment, I shuffle closer, and just as a hint of a smile is working its way onto my face, there's a brilliant flash that blinds me.

I hear the whirring of a camera, and when I'm done blinking away the spots in my eyes, Theodore Creevey is standing before me (he looks rather nervous, I wonder why), holding out a picture.

When I take it, he darts away with a whimper. Alcohol does odd things to people.

The picture he just handed to me is magical; in that it's moving, and displaying (I'm tempted to use the words "rubbing in my face") my act of cozying up to the boy I'm supposed to hate. Urgh, I really hate magical pictures.

As I watch, my miniature version of myself heaves a deep, lovesick sigh at the mess of hair on her (my) shoulder.

And I _especially_ hate this one.

I could rip it up (right in front of Potter's nose, too!)…but then I guess it'd be better if I kept it…y'know, for recollection's sake, of course. I slip the photo into my robe pocket. I hope that berk Sirius Black isn't watching.

--

I'm watching Evans with the photo, and it looks like she's having some sort of painful internal struggle. It's kind of sad, but then again, it serves her right – she could just admit to herself that she's in love with Prongs.

Speaking of the prat, he's still asleep on her shoulder.

Or so it seems. Something about those upturned lips makes me suspicious…

But no – surely not. He wouldn't do that. He must be even more drunk than I thought to even try!

It's at that moment that I see Prongs open his eyes slightly (and sure enough, there's a bit of a drunken glaze to it) to give the photo a quick once-over. Then he catches my eye, and get this – he _winks _at me (sober Marauders do _not _wink!), before turning his attention back to Evans and the photo. When she's putting it away (with shifty eyes), I swear that drunken arse of a best friend _smirks _before closing his eyes again.

I have got to admit that I'm impressed with Prongs's act of courage (though I'm more tempted to call it _recklessness);_ impressed enough that I may just rethink releasing those embarrassing clown photos.

Maybe.

We'll see.

He still can't hold his alcohol, after all.


	3. Denial

**Denial  
By Kimmy **

It's been six months since I've updated. Forgive me.

* * *

Lily Evans is not in love.

So if she spends a second too long gazing at James Potter, you know it's only because he's got a bit of potato stuck to his bottom lip.  
And, of course, if she hasn't told him so, it's only because he's in the middle of a conversation – not because it gives her a reason to stare at his bottom lip.

Lily Evans is not in love.

So when she turns up at the Quidditch pitch during practice, it's only because she knows how much the team's success depends on the support from their fans.  
And if one should notice how her eyes follow only one particular person, it's only because that person's wearing the distinctive robes of the captain – not because that particular person is James Potter.

Lily Evans is not in love.

So when she spots James walking alone with a pretty Ravenclaw prefect, and she suddenly feels very moody, it's only because she knows this will almost definitely make him late to the prefect meeting.  
And when he shows up to the meeting, followed shortly by a very disappointed looking Ravenclaw, she's ecstatic – but only because they were on time – definitely not because she was jealous.

Lily Evans is not in love.

So, late in the evening, when her friends tease and prod and joke about _Lily and James sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G_, she rolls her eyes and chucks her hairbrush at them, flippantly replying, "Yeah, in a million years."  
And when James Potter smiles at her during dinner, and she has to remind herself of her oath – in a million years, _in a million years_, Lily, remember? – she brushes it off as a lapse in her usually sound judgment, and swears to herself she won't let it happen again.

Lily Evans is not in love.

So when James Potter turns up at her table in the library just to stare at her for five minutes, and her cheeks flare and her heart jumps and her stomach flips and her mind's telling her lies [you're in love, you're in love] – she stands up and storms out, throwing a biting, "Leave me alone, Potter," over her shoulder.

Because Lily Evans is _not_ in love.


	4. Wake Up & Let Go

**Wake Up & Let Go  
By Kimmy**

It's been a while, I know. Things have been hectic lately, what with graduation and registering for college and stuff -- but it's summer now, so I had time to complete this. It feels so good to be writing again. :)

I'm proud of this one, so I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Lily Evans collapses wearily into the warm sheets of the bed, groaning in relief as she kicks off her shoes. After the horrid day she has just had, she's grateful for the comfort that the four-poster bed offers her aching body. She stretches languidly, adjusting her head on the pillow as she closes her eyes.

She's just drifting off to sleep when somebody bursts into the dormitory, letting the door bounce off the wall without any apparent regard for Lily. "Are you in bed already, Lily? It's only 8!" Penny Poleduck's voice is harsh and grating to Lily's sleep-fogged brain. "Really, it's just a few tests – some would think you had just run a marathon!"

It takes an extreme force of will to open her mouth, and even then, Lily's voice is muffled against her pillow. "Penny. Shut up."

Penny, however, is not one to shut up, especially when told to. "Seriously, Lily, you need to get up! Thomas Pinkle is down there showing off his new broom, it's so _gorgeous, _Lily, you _have _to see it!" And then she's off, proclaiming the many great things about Thomas Pinkle's new broom.

Lily tries to get back to sleep in the midst of Penny's babble – oh, how she does – but Penny's voice gets more irritating with each passing second. It's finally as Penny is comparing Thomas Pinkle's new broom to her own broom that Lily finally gives up. She gets out of bed with a stumble, "accidentally" chucks her pillow into Penny's face, and shuffles toward the door.

Penny follows excitedly, now clutching Lily's pillow to her chest. "Are we going to see the broom now? Oh, I'm _so _glad you listened to me, Lily, trust me you won't be disapp-!" The rest of Penny's sentence is cut off as Lily shuts the door on her face.

---

Lily collapses into bed again, grateful once more for the warmth it provides against the chilly rooms of Hogwarts. She presses her face into the pillow she's hugging and inhales indulgently, letting the sweet scent carry her off into a light doze.

The soft click of the door opening makes Lily open her eyes again. There's a pause as the door clicks shut. And then – "Lily?"

The seventh-year grunts noncommittally.

There's the sound of a few muffled footsteps against the carpet from behind Lily, and then the same voice, closer this time.

"Are you okay?" James Potter asks. His hand comes to rest on the back of her knee as he sits on the edge of the bed. "Penny told me I'd find you up here; is there something wrong?"

Lily is very distracted by the hand on her skin and is quite honestly still half-asleep, but she's still able to mumble a semi-coherent reply. "Gno."

She feels his hand shift, barely grazing her thigh – and suddenly, he's playing with her hair, and _oh, _does that feel nice. His fingers gently graze her scalp with each pass through the strands. She sighs contentedly as the rhythm melts away the tension in her body until she can almost feel herself sinking into the mattress.

And then she hears his voice – deep, comforting, affectionate, and a tad bit amused – "Well, if there's nothing wrong…," He twirls an errant strand around his index finger, and she hums softly in acknowledgement. "Why are you in my bed?"

It takes a few moments, but Lily eventually responds. "Thomas Pinkle's new broom," she huffs across the pillow, her eyebrows creasing minutely in annoyance.

The hand in her hair pauses to rest on her neck. There's silence – she can almost picture James's puzzled expression – and then it clicks, and James is all of a sudden laughing, loud against the backdrop of Lily's even breaths.

Lily's brow relaxes as she listens. She breathes in the sweet smell of James's soap on his pillow, revels in the sound of his laughter, soaks up the warmth of his hand on her neck, and, with a smile touching the corner of her mouth, finally falls asleep.

In her dreams, Thomas Pinkle's new broom doesn't exist.


End file.
